“Do you really think living here hasn’t had a big hand in who you’ve turned out to be? Do you think you’d have had the same drive to create Dollywould if we’d laid the world out for you at your doorstep?”
“Are you seriously saying that living in this shitty town was part of some grand strategy to make me a go-getter?”
“That was part of it. Yes.”
Lydia reached out and smacked her dad on the forehead, as if swatting a mosquito.
He winced and pulled away. “Look, do you think there’s anywhere—any city, any high school—where someone as smart and talented as you can waltz in and do your thing and nobody will try to tear you down because they feel inferior to you?”
“I don’t know.” She rested her head back on her dad’s shoulder.
“I went through what you did in high school.”
“Oh please. Mom told me you were class president of Forrestville High.”
“That doesn’t mean I had a lot of close friends or that I fit in. It means that I was nice to everyone and they rewarded me for it. I still felt lonely.”
“Then why did you come back here to raise your daughter? Look me in the eye and tell me that it wasn’t because you were afraid of living in a bigger city.”
“I don’t think it was fear so much as the inertia of living in a familiar place that we feel connected to. Nowhere is perfect.”
“And here I’ve been thinking that Forrestville couldn’t be improved.”
Her dad grabbed a handful of the dwindling popcorn. “Hey, I think it’s fine, and when I was in high school I didn’t even have two friends as close and loyal as Dill and Travis. I can see it on those guys’ faces. They’d stand between you and a pack of lions.”
“Pride of lions.” She grabbed a handful of popcorn.
“Whatever. They wouldn’t let lions eat you. Don’t think you won’t miss them when you’ve gone off to bigger and better things. Part of you will miss this life.”
“I’ll be too busy to miss stuff.”
“No you won’t. Listen, sweetie, these are real friends you have. Genuine friends. Two of them. That’s two more than a lot of people who live in bigger cities and do fancier things have.”
Her voice became faint, like it became when she knew she had to concede something but thought she could keep the universe from hearing. “I know.”
“So stop hating your parents for making the choice we made about where to raise you. If we’d raised you in the big city, you might’ve gotten hit by a stray bullet in a drive-by shooting or something.”
She lifted her head from her dad’s shoulder and rolled her eyes after making sure he was watching. “I am so regretting that I made you watch The Wire. I should’ve guessed you’d be a total doofus about it.”
“What are Dill’s and Travis’s plans after they graduate?”
She sighed. “I mean, I guess Dill’s going to go full time at Floyd’s and Travis’ll work full time at the lumberyard. And they’ll live their lives and go to Waffle House or whatever and get old and die.”
“Hey,” her dad said, more sharply than usual. “Don’t.”
Lydia gave him a reproachful, wounded glance, frowning. “Sorry. Jeez, don’t be a creep.”
“No, sweetie. I’m not being a creep. You’re being very haughty and unkind about their lives. People live quiet lives and that’s okay. There’s dignity in that, no matter what you may think.”
“I wish they wanted more out of life because I care about them. I hate thinking about Dill and Travis stuck here, living pathetic lives. It bums me out. I want Dill especially to go to college and do something with his life.”
“I don’t think they’re trying to inconvenience you personally. Their circumstances are really different from yours.”
“Duh, I know.”
“Do you? Can you keep a secret?”
She gave him an of-course-I-can-how-dare-you-question-me look.
“You really can’t tell because I could get in trouble for revealing patient information. But I think you should know. A couple of years ago, I replaced Travis’s two front teeth. They said it was an accident at the lumberyard—that he was stacking some wood and a forklift hit the stack and drove a piece of wood into his face. So here’s the funny thing about that. They called me the morning after. The lumberyard closes at five, like my office. So why not call me sooner? Did this accident happen at 4:59? I doubt it. Wouldn’t you call the dentist immediately?”
“Oh my God,” Lydia murmured. “It must have happened that night—”
“At home. And of course I have zero proof of anything and Travis insisted that it happened at the lumberyard. But first he said that he was pulling some lumber off a rack and it fell and hit him; then he said a forklift hit it.”
“Trav’s dad totally seems the type.”
“Oh, Clint Bohannon is the type. He was two years ahead of me in high school. Meanest son of a bitch you ever met. Bully. Strutted around high school like nobody could touch him. Star quarterback. Did you really not know what Travis goes through at home?”
Lydia felt wounded and oblivious—neither was a feeling she enjoyed. “No. He—he doesn’t talk about what goes on at home. I knew his dad was an asshole but I didn’t know how big of one. How did Travis come from that? He’s the sweetest.”
“Anne Marie, his mom, was in my grade. Sweet, pretty. Cheerleader. Nice to everyone. We all thought she’d turn Clint a little nicer when they got married. Guess that didn’t happen.”
Lydia absorbed it all silently.
Her dad hugged her closer. “And I don’t need to tell you about Dill’s issues. Point is, you’ve had a very different life and it’s important for you to be understanding.”
“Okay,” Lydia said, shaken. How did I not know that about Travis? How was I so blind? I’m a horrible friend. I should have seen. I should have made Travis feel like he could tell me.
“You’re destined for great things, Lydia. That comes at a price. Everybody wants to be close to greatness and get a piece for themselves. The day may come when it takes some discernment to tell when someone loves you for you and when someone wants to stand near your fire. You have two friends right now who may not be glamorous, but they love you for you.”
“You’re right,” she murmured.
Her dad sat up in mock astonishment, fumbling for his phone. “Hold on, hold on! Can you repeat that so I can get it on film?”
“You’re such a dork, I can’t even deal. I have to go work on my blog.” She got up.
“Don’t stay up too late.”
“I love you, Daddy.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“Oh, by the way, a few things came for you today. On the kitchen counter.”
Lydia went into the kitchen. A package from Owl, an up-and-coming online budget fashion retailer. A sundress and some wedges. Not bad. They’d make the blog. A small package from Miu Miu. A back-to-school gift—a necklace. Definitely blog-worthy.
And an envelope. She opened it. A letter, on the most expensive-feeling stationery she’d ever held. It smelled as though scent scientists had engineered it to give off the whiff of walking past a high-end rare book dealer’s shop in Paris or London. Written in powerful, sweeping, feminine handwriting:
Love the blog. Of course I’ll give you a letter of recommendation. Write a letter for my signature and have Dahlia give it to my assistant. See that your grammar and spelling are impeccable. Above all, be generous with yourself; make signing this worth my while.
Cheers,
Vivian Winter
Excitement dissipated some of the melancholy of the conversation about Dill and Travis.
Just got letter from your mom, said she’d write rec letter for me!!! THANK YOU, Lydia texted Dahlia.
Her phone buzzed. I told you she would, Dahlia texted back. Repay me by featuring me on Dollywould.
You got it. We’ll do profile and interview. Seriously thanks.
It’s nothing. Chloe is in, btw. Three fab fashionistas in NYC. We better find a place with loads of closet space.
Now I need to get into NYU, Lydia texted.
You’ll have no trouble thanks to mum and your brilliance.
Lydia began composing her blog post while she looked at the pictures of the things she and her two friends wanted as their messages to the world after they’d been dead for thousands of years and tried to think about what she could say that would do them justice.